


Snippets n' such

by whimsicaltwine



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Car Chases, Crimes & Criminals, Fake Science, Fluff, Kidnapping, Small Towns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23144656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicaltwine/pseuds/whimsicaltwine
Summary: Little things I've written that I probably won't finish yeet
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil & Creativity | Roman & Logic | Logan & Morality | Patton, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 11
Kudos: 7





	1. The boys are running from the cops and Remus kidnapps patton because he's a mess

The tires squeal against the pavement, the sound rising up through the air as Roman grins, throwing a glance into the backseat, where Logan is fumbling for his seatbelt while Remus tumbles across into his lap with a delighted cackle. Logan’s resulting scowl is lit in red and blue, red and blue, the flashing lights of the police cars behind them spilling through the back window and into the car. “How’d it go, boys?” he says, tossing the words into the backseat.

“Adequate,” says Logan, “although it would have gone much better if your brother was capable of impulse control. This clearly isn’t the type of job he’s suited for.”

With a chuckle, Roman cranks the steering wheel to the side so that they sail across the intersection, leaving a splash of angry, startled drivers and wailing police cars in their wake. “You try to tell him he can’t do something and see how that goes for you, then. Don’t come crying to me when your socks are filled with jello.”

With an offended gasp, Remus scrambles up to a sitting position, resolutely ignoring Logan’s pointed glances at the seatbelt as he crows, “That’s so boring, Roman, I’m insulted! At the very least, I’d—“

“Take a left here,” Logan says, raising his voice in an attempt to be heard over Remus, but just as Roman starts looking around, the street passes them in a blur, like it’s been smeared across the window. A long-suffering sigh drifts up from the backseat. Roman can hear the clack of Logan’s machine opening and a sharp, solid sound that is probably him slapping Remus’ hand away without even looking up from his work, the faithful mask of boredom and exasperation that he wears day in and day out firmly in place. “Never mind,” he says, “just get to the bridge.”

Roman straightens up in his seat, excitement filling up his chest. “I get to drive off a bridge?”

Another sigh. “Yes, Roman, you should drive off the bridge. It’s the easiest conceivable way to isolate the car enough that I can transport us back to our current place of residence, as long as you don’t miss another turn.” At that, Remus cackles, the sound filling the car as Roman swerves around another corner and smirks up into the mirror, where the flock of police cars throw splashes of gleaming red and blue into the nighttime world around them. The bridge is coming up fast, racing up through Roman’s vision.

“Remus, put your seatbelt on,” says Logan, who has already finished fiddling with the settings on his crazy physics machine.

“The guy in the trunk doesn’t have to wear a seatbelt, so neither do I,” says Remus, yanking Roman down from the thrill of his hands on the steering wheel and his foot pressed down on the gas and the road rushing away beneath him so that he lands hard in his seat, an icy something springing to life in his chest.

“The _what?”_ he screeches. With a faint clunk and the shift of the white noise of the road beneath them, the car hurdles onto the bridge. Logan adjusts his glasses.

“This is exactly what I mean when I say that he is not a good choice for this type of endeavor. Because of his carelessness — Roman, you’re about to miss it — we were seen by —“

“It’s not like I killed him.”

Setting his sights on the railing, Roman finds an opening and turns. There’s the heavy, visceral crunch of the guard rail tearing away, the clunk of the car’s wheels leaving the edge in favor of the clear, cold air, and for a split second the world is frozen. The crystalline blue of the sky meets the blue of the river below them, plunging the car into a void of color, and everything is silent as they sail through the air, a collection of stressed metal and people bracing for impact. Roman hears the distinct click of a switch settling into place.

And then the suspended world shatters and falls away like a glass knocked off a countertop and the momentum of the half-fall crashes down onto cracked pavement with a rumble and a jolt, the empty world replaced by one of blacks and grays and dirty browns, a jungle gym of forgotten industrial space. Even with the network of springs and air cushions Virgil has wound into the car, the impact is rough. Roman stays still for a moment and lets himself settle back into the world.

Remus, though, is already throwing himself out the door with an enthusiastic whoop. Rocking back on his feet and throwing his arms out, he shouts, “Fuck yeah!” up at the sky. 

Roman climbs out of the car. Outside, Logan is already checking over his machine because his inventions will always take priority, but Roman is more concerned about the Actual Human Being that has apparently been stuffed in a trunk, knocked around in a car chase, and teleported into their current home base.

The trunk springs open as soon as his fingers hit the latch. As the afternoon light jumps into the space, Roman watches as the man inside blinks, shying away from the harsh light and Roman’s shocked gaze. The first thing Roman notices is the duct tape wound around his wrists and ankles, drawing messy, twisted bands of gray over his chestnut skin and khaki pants; the second is his hair, which is remarkably, miraculously fluffy.


	2. small town high school royality

“Hi mom, I’m going out to the creek!” Roman shouts out into the house as he flings his backpack off his shoulder and onto the ground in the front hallway, his sneakers tracing a streamlined path through the front room, around the couch, and into the kitchen, where he snatches a granola bar out of the cabinet without even looking before rushing out the back door, leaving it to swing shut behind him as he disappears into the yard. The ground still has that half-soggy feeling from the morning’s rain; he’s probably going to get an earful for tracking dirt through the house, later, but he doesn’t care. Roman is already off into the cluster of trees that gather at the back of the yard, their bare branches holding back the blue sky as his footsteps fall heavy and oh-so light on the dark ground, barley touching down before they retreat again.

It’s one of those freakishly warm winter days, the ones that make Logan and Virgil grumble about climate change even as they bring their homework outside. Doomsday warnings aside, Roman loves them, loves being able to break out of his house and feel the air on his bare arms. Most of all, though, he loves that the creek isn’t frozen.

And so Roman is dashing through the little patch of woods behind his house with an unrestrained, windswept grin, because every decent day and half the cold ones for the past year he’s come back here to the creek, a mini notebook in his pocket and a smile on his face, to see if he’ll be reading a message from his fairy boy.

Stumbling to a stop at the edge of the creek, Roman kicks off his shoes, peels off his socks, and settles himself on the banks with his feet in the water. He sighs contentedly. 

The world is painted in tones of brown. From the damp earth to the old leaves on the ground to the scattered sticks to the rocks beneath the water, it’s a collage of chestnut and chocolate and coffee, all covered in a smooth layer of glass that ripples into crystalline patterns in front of Roman’s eyes and nudges his ankles, a perfect world for his fairy boy to live in. After a moment, he reaches down to pull up his net.

After spending a childhood as part of a faithful baseball backstop with a strike zone outlined in red ribbon, it’s found a second life here, stretched across the creek to catch messages instead of bad pitches. Roman’s gotten lucky today. The bottle takes a bit of work to retrieve without getting too wet, but before long he has the cold glass in his hands as he fishes around for his pocket knife so he can pull out the cork (fairy boy’s aesthetic game is wonderfully strong) and tap the bottle until a neatly curled up piece of paper falls into his palm.

It’s tied with a lime green piece of yarn today, which Roman slides off with a careful, reverent touch worthy of ancient scrolls and magical mysteries. Sitting back down, he unfurls the paper and starts to read.

__

_Dear friend,_

_Isn’t it nice when we get weather like this? It’s like a little present after being so patient with the cold. My dog loves it. She’ll stay outside all day on days like this, just laying in the yard, and then her fur will be all warm when I pet her. It’d be great to have someone to go on picnics with, don’t you think? Sometimes I like to imagine doing that with you, whoever you are. We could get a cute little red and white checkered blanket and a basket and make sandwiches and cookies and find a spot with super soft grass and not worry about anything for a little while. Maybe you’re a shapes in the clouds type of person. I am, so that’d be fun._

_Yesterday I made some really yummy homemade granola bars to put in my lunch. I listened to music while I did it, too, it was nice._

_I guess I should get to the point. I haven’t been able to write to you at all because things have been frozen all the time, and I feel pretty bad I haven’t told you already, but I’m moving soon. Not that far, just to the next town over, but it’ll be a whole new house and a whole new school in the middle of the year and I won’t be able to send you messages anymore, which is really sad — it’s silly, because I don’t even know who you are or if anyone is getting these at all, but I just like to think I can make somebody happy, you know? Sorry this one isn’t happy._

_I like to imagine what it’d be like to meet you. I do that a lot. It’d just be really nice, don’t you think, to have someone you can just spend time with, even if you aren’t doing anything, and talk to about the stuff you don’t like to tell other people about because you know you’d be bothering them or because they’d look at you weird or just not care in the same way you want to care about somebody. I think I’m just clingy, and that it bothers people sometimes but sometimes I think that they just don’t care about me enough to want to spend time with me._

_That might not make a ton of sense but what I’m trying to say is that I care about you enough to do all that stuff even though I don’t know who you are. And I’m sad that I won’t be able to send you messages anymore. I know I’ve had fun writing them, so I hope they’ve made you smile, too! Goodbye, friend, I hope you have a wonderful rest of your life._

__

The paper crinkles in Roman’s hands as he pulls his focus back out of the words and fairy boy’s round handwriting. Something in him catches on the first halfhearted moments of a fire, flicking up to the edge of his thoughts to shout anger and frustration and why couldn’t he at least leave a name on the very last one?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then in the rest, our mystery boy (Patton) would move to Roman's town (shocking, I know) and they start dating or whatever and then one day they're hanging out in Roman's room and Patton finds one of the letters he wrote - Roman's kept all of them


End file.
